


Troubleshooting, And Other Ways To Help Your New Android Son: When To Ask For Help

by Odense



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (in a sense), Gen, Kamski Test Pass, Sickfic, analytic philosophy, formal semantics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 19:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18556177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odense/pseuds/Odense
Summary: Connor runs into a glitch, and without Cyberlife’s support, Hank has to go to Elijah Kamski for help. Discussion of empathy and formal semantic issues ensues.(generally following the best ending)So, dreaming is a human brain doing a defrag?Sort of.Really?Absolutely not, but it works to think of it that way.





	Troubleshooting, And Other Ways To Help Your New Android Son: When To Ask For Help

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luckynote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckynote/gifts).



> The first draft of this is from nov 2018, when I was taking a semantics course and Struggling with the analytic style. I'm realizing, the more I study, how very much more of a continental student I am :/ so I need to reframe the course materials a bit, and then robots happened??? 
> 
> In any case, this is totally dedicated to Bones, who got me hooked on DBH via tumblr dashboard osmosis <3!! This may be a bit odd but I do hope you like it!!!

 

It was a sign of the anxiety he didn’t want to admit, that Hank would dig deep enough into their notes from a closed case to find a number for Elijah Kamski, of all people. But come the time, comes the measure, they said. If Kamski didn’t pick up, he reasoned, he wouldn’t leave a message with the weirdo.

For better or worse, the mad genius took the call. Hank didn’t even hear from Chloe first, this time; his workscreen lept straight from the line of waiting dots to what had to be Kamski’s office. The wall behind him was as stark as the rest of the mansion had been, but Kamski was mercifully clothed, this time.

“Lieutenant Anderson. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m not sure it is one. Look, I know you’ve got to be doing important things with the way everything fell out, but you’ve got to be the most knowledgeable person for this problem.”

Kamski blinked, his eyebrows twitching with it. There, that was curiosity. 

“What sort of problem? Surely we aren’t facing another revolution so quickly.”

“No, we’re not,” Hank agreed. “It’s just Connor.” He stared past the screen, across the kitchen table, at the android frozen in place. “He's been sitting there frozen for an age now, and his little diode’s been yellow for even longer. He's not snapping out of it. What the hell’s wrong with him now?”

Kamski rolled his shoulders and leaned forward on an elbow. “Lieutenant, even I need more information than that. For that matter, what makes you think I can do anything about him?”

“Because you know everything about him. You're robo-god, or as close as there is. If anyone can help, it's you. And in particular, you want to, because you've already done it before.”

“So why would I do it again?”

“The RK series was your smoking gun, is why,” Hank jabbed his finger at the screen, confident. “Markus was your best shot at real AI before they kicked you out. Connor’s been under Cyberlife’s thumb, but you can't let anything go. He's still one of your kids, or however you want to think about them. And then they messed with him and now he's glitching out. Can you really walk away?”

“I'm impressed you have such a high opinion of my motives.”

Hank nodded, “I’m surprised too. But that's not the point. One of yours is having trouble,” he leaned on the desk. “How do we get him out of it?”

For a long moment, Kamski didn’t respond, staring at something behind the webcam. God knew what it could be, in his mansion. Finally, he looked back.

“What did you say was wrong with Connor? He's frozen, you say?”

“Yeah. A while, now. I was pretty distracted myself,” Hank admitted. “Don't know exactly how long, but we've been back from the office about an hour now, so at most that long.”

“An hour, max. And given how much you pay attention to other people, it could've been most of that window before you looked up, but it only takes another quarter of an hour before you're picking me, of all people, to reach out to?”

“Are we focusing?” Hank snapped.

“Of course,” Kamski soothed. “I'm just getting context. Tell me, what's he doing? Are you on a case in particular?”

“That's our business.” 

Kamski shook his head. “It's Connor's. Which now makes it mine. Really, how am I supposed to do anything without knowing what’s going on?”

Hank let out a grumbling sigh, blowing the breath out through his cheeks. “It's a string of cases. Androids being dismembered. It's pretty bad, I guess.” He shuffled his shoulders, uncomfortable. Ever since Connor had bled out in front of him him at the broadcast tower, the sprays of blue blood had become harder to ignore. “But Connor downloaded a whole ton off of what was left of the last vic, right before they switched off. So he was gonna be analyzing all of it, but he's usually responsive during that, at least.”

“He's compiling at home, too?” Kamski raised his eyebrows. “What's the overtime rate for androids?”

“He'd do it even if someone realized and tried to stop him. Kid hasn't figured out down time, yet.” 

“Hm. If that’s all, there shouldn't be an issue, no,” Kamski said slowly. “Unless the download was corrupted. It could happen, now that they aren't being backed up regularly. It's on them now, to defrag and such.” 

“To what now?”

Kamski stared at him, and let out a disgusted sigh. “You don't schedule maintenance on your computers, do you.” He dropped his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“That's what I have IT for.”

Kamski waved a hand at the office’s support, dismissive. “Yeah, well, Conner doesn't, any more. And he's never taken care of himself before, either. Think of it like healthcare, I guess. You get to your 20s or whatever it is now, and have to make your own appointments, and everyone's shit at it but that's what parents are meant to help you with, supposedly. And he doesn't have any.”

“You're saying he's sick?” Hank frowned. “Corrupted data, is that a bug? A trojan?”

“Please,” Kamski looked disgusted, “his security is better than anything like that. His immune system, whatever. No, he's a computer, Lieutenant.” He shook his head. “They don't have human problems like that, forget the metaphor.” 

“You brought it up.”

“Did it work for you?”

“Well, I thought it did, until you said it was wrong.”

“It's a limited metaphor.”

“Well, fine, then.” Hank rolled his eyes, wondering what he was doing. “He's not sick. He's still frozen. YRoD,” he offered, remembering. 

Kamski’s short laugh seemed to surprise both of them. “It seems like that, yes. But I'm sure he's fine, in whatever this is. It's just a matter of getting him out, without any of the backups or failsafes that Cyberlife would have had,” his gaze drifted away for a moment at the mention of the company, before snapping back. “So. He's processing something. I assume you just came back from the scene?”

“Yeah,” Hank nodded, “we were there all day. And back at the office before that; I'm beat. Last thing we need is Connor checking out; he's getting us through the spree.”

Kamski opened his mouth and closed it. “Hm.”

“Hm? What's hm?” 

Kamski surprised him, leaning forward again. “When was the last time Connor slept, for lack of a more convenient word in this context?”

“Didn't you just say not to treat him like a human?” 

“Will you bear with me?” 

“I don't know,” Hank had to admit. “A while, I guess, but it's not like he makes a production out of it.”

“You're right, it's not sleep, as we experience it. But still, all systems need time to put themselves in order, every now and then. Until recently, Cyberlife did it for him.” Kamski had found a pen, clicking it idly.

This gave Hank pause. “So, Connor doesn't know how to sleep?”

“I doubt either of you are very good at it.”

“And you picked up at this hellish hour,” Hank defended himself, and the whole precinct’s habits.

“I'm an eccentric genius, though,” Kamski waved it away with the pen. “I can get away with bad habits. You're modeling for him, and poorly.”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort. “

“Look, Connor has no practical experience functioning without Cyberlife's support. Markus is so high-functioning not because of his programming, but because he learned everything from Carl.” Kamski put the pen down with a sharp clack. “Connor's learning your bad habits.”

Hank drew himself up. “Look, I don't know what you think-”

Kamski cut him off. “You came to me, Lieutenant. Do you want my diagnosis?”

“Yes,” Hank agreed, jaw tight. For a jumped-up computer, Connor was usually so obviously present, fooling with evidence or anything on a desk, eyes constantly flicking at everything around him. And now there was something unsettling about his tight posture, with those bright eyes so vacant. All of Kamski’s attitude could be dealt with, if it got him back in shape.

“He's stuck in a frame problem. It's the sort of thing that shouldn't be an issue, with how advanced he is, but it goes back to all formal systems,” Kamski explained.

“A frame problem? Are you making this up?” 

“I am not.” Kamski leaned back and spread his hands, constructing a space. “Think of what it would be like to walk into a room, where the walls and the floors and the ceiling and every surface are absolutely covered in data that is all equally, utterly verifiable. Every single possible state of affairs is backed up by atomic facts. It’s an incredible sight. What would you do? Where would you start?”

“This is infinite information? Then there's gotta be something there I'm already interested in, anything to do with something I'm familiar with.”

“By personal preference, then. But say you didn't have opinions, in this case. For the sake of the argument, take anything like that out of the equation. It's all equally compelling.” 

“If it's all the same for relevance?” Hank shrugged. “It doesn't matter, just dive in anywhere.”

“At random,” Kamski confirmed, tapping the pen on his fingertips as he watched Hank deliberate. If it was another test, though, Hank still didn’t know better than to answer honestly, in this case.

“Yeah,” he finally allowed.

“But a truly random formula is a contradiction in terms.” Kamski tilted his head. “We humans are unconscious enough of our processes, that we think we can let go of the burden of rational choice, and go with what we feel like. It works well enough, anyway. But androids are fully intentional. Connor doesn't know where to start.”

“Of course he does. He's the best at making connections, that's what they made him for.” 

“But ‘they’ aren't around anymore, and he has to do everything himself, now. Do you get what I'm saying, Anderson?” Kamski leaned back in.

“I might, if you would just spit it out!” 

Kamski threw his hands up. “He's tired! This is what an exhausted android looks like, believe it or not. He hasn't been taking care of himself, you're in an incredibly stressful situation for him, and now all he can do is try to process more information than he can actually handle. Is that really so hard to imagine?”

“For a person, no,” Hank allowed.

“Well, he's a person, now. And everyone's going to have to learn to live with it.”

Hank let that land. “Alright. Alright, then. So,” he took a breath, “how do we help him?”

“Hell if I know.”

“You sack of shit!”

“What, do you really think I’m omnipotent? I mean, thank you for the high opinion,” he put a hand over his heart, “but we just agreed they’re people, and obviously I’m terrible with people! Why do you think I live in a giant house with only robots for company? It’s not because I’ve got a great bedside manner.”

“I asked you for help, and your answer is you don’t know? What’s the point of you, even?”

“I told you what I think’s wrong with him technically. I’m not about to start prying panels open to find out more. No, you need to -” Kamski stopped himself and sighed. “Okay, what’ve you done so far?”

“Other than call you?”

“Other than call me, jesus christ. Have you tried anything, before you freaked out?”

“He’s not responding to his name. Or anything. It’s like he can’t hear or see.” Hank looked anxiously past the webcam, at the unblinking android.

“Or he just can’t respond to audio or visual stimuli,” Kamski corrected.

Hank swung back to him. “Are you saying this is some sort of locked-in syndrome?”

“It’s not impossible. What about touch?”

“Like, a tap? Didn’t snap him out of it,” Hank shook his head.

“From a human, then, and I assume to his shoulder, or somewhere.”

“Yeah.”

Kamski pursed his lips, thinking. “Are there any androids he’s friends with, around?”

“Not as such.”

“That he’s friends with, or around?

“Astonishingly, given the option of returning to previous positions, most androids didn’t opt to go back to working for the law enforcement that was first in place to round them up,” Hank pointed out dryly. “Connor’s the only android in the department, to my knowledge.”

“No pressure, Connor.” Kamski didn’t try to cover the sarcastic lilt. But his eyes were distant, distracted. He rolled his wrists, and Hank waited for him to come back to earth. After a moment, he sighed. “Alright, yes,” he admitted. “I do have an idea. But he’ll hate everything about it. Maybe us, too. Me, I don’t care, but do you want to risk it?”

“Hate us?” Hank frowned. “What are you planning, here?”

“Did Connor ever talk about Amanda?”

Hank thought back. “I think so. You had a picture of her.”

Kamski twitched his head, a tight half-nod. “That’s who she was to me. Connor knew her very differently.”

“What do you mean? She’s dead, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yes. Legally, physically, personally, without a doubt. But Cyberlife had an AI mirror of her, that they used to monitor high-value models. Amanda’s face and voice are still very much alive in Cyberlife and Connor’s servers.” Kamski leaned on the desk, arms crossed. “Connor didn’t get his orders from Cyberlife, he got them from someone he trusted. Someone the original author trusted.”

“Your own mentor.” Hank whistled low, caught between being impressed and disgusted. “You aren’t just making new lives, you can’t even let her die.”

Kamski’s face was tight. “She’s dead, Lieutenant. That’s not a question, and Professor Stern isn’t a part of this. The face and voice are just layers of code on a program.” 

Hank shook his head. “Cyberlife was the one pulling Connor’s strings, whatever their avatar was. I don’t think they’d be particularly amenable to a call for help.”

“You don’t need to call them,” Kamski shrugged. “You already called me.”

“I didn’t call you to hack into Cyberlife! They’re already after my head for breathing near Connor, much less jailbreaking him.”

“And I said you don’t need them! Please,” Kamski leaned back and threw his arms out, “I am Cyberlife! Every good idea they put out started with me. They’re the ones who ruined everything. I built the foundations of anything they’re touting, and I always leave a back door in my programs.”

“And where’s that door lead, then, huh? Hasn’t he had enough of people digging into his head?” Hank’s lip twisted.

“I was very clear, he wouldn’t like it. But he’s not here, and you don’t have another choice,” Kamski said calmly.

Hank crossed his arms. “There’s always a choice.”

Kamski rolled his eyes, ostentatious in his exasperation. “Of course there is. You could let him sit there until he snaps out of it himself. Your million-dollar new furniture. A conversation piece, if you ever have guests again. Maybe get something to keep the dust off him.”

Hank forced himself not to shudder at the image. “God. You really are an entire sack of shit,” he spat. 

“I won’t disagree. But I’m also not deluding myself about what Connor is. He’s a computer, and I fix computers. You want him to be your kid 2.0, and tell me: when a kid is sick, when your son is hurt, do you go to the doctor, or let them tough it out alone? You’re a good dad given the option, Anderson,” he said with uncharacteristic softness. “So take the option.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> do Kids These Days still have to deal with the RRoD??
> 
> Also, for the longest time, gdocs kept wanting to correct him (in reference to Connor) to IBM.
> 
> Anyway, I started this back before moving into Wittgenstein’s later works, and when we did a review of formalists, my notes read:  
> \- Given list of all Possible States of Affairs  
> \- If start thinking  
> \-- Granting all atomic facts  
> \- Is there any motivation to start thinking? / what is it?  
> \-- What is the guidance to stop?  
> \-- (even if we’re considering the facts/affairs aligning with with reality): too many options  
> \-- No guidance in place  
> \- Pure objective condition has no context/direction for inquiry: Frame Problem  
> \-- AI issue: Too Much Information, making action impossible  
> \- Functionally, use informal systems: Grice: Truth as a Guide for Inquiry!  
> \-- Personal interests, goals, etc narrow scope
> 
> The SEP also has a great entry; they’re one of the best online philosophy resources out there: https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/frame-problem/
> 
>  
> 
> Maybe Hank’s an apple user, that why he doesn’t know how to take care of electronics _(shots fired)_


End file.
